Eurotas
by silentsailor
Summary: Tango company didn't expect much the first time they went up against the Spartan IIs. They should have known better.


**Eurotas**

* * *

**430 hours, September 27th, 2522 (Military Calendar)Epsilon Eridani system, planet Reach, Spartan training exercise.**

John crawled down onto his hands and knees, shuffling awkwardly though the tall, swaying grass. Scope in hand, he scooted forward to the cliff's edge and peered over the rise. There it was—Tango Company's base. The walks were oddly empty; it would be another half an hour before any soldiers awoke.

John poked his head just above the grass and looked back. It took a moment for him to find them; Fhajad sat high in the treetops, fiddling with a radio. Linda was perched on the branch next to him. With his dark skin and her red hair, they were all but perfectly camouflaged in the autumn leaves. When Linda saw John looking, she smiled and reached to tap Fhajad on the shoulder. He held the radio to his mouth and whistled a six-note phrase.

John grinned and picked up his own radio. "One-seventeen reporting in, blue team. No sightings. Flag pole an estimated..." he double-checked the scope. "Five hundred meters west, seventy meters below current location. Team status?"

"Good," Fhajad's voice buzzed with static. "I just got our channel encrypted; these radios were bugged. Guess they expected us to take 'em. Green team is still guarding our stash; no problems there, or up here." He looked away from John a moment; Linda had just come racing toward him along a thicker branch. He frowned and held the radio up to her face as she grabbed her sniper rifle and scanned the field.

"Kelly, Vihn, and Grace just took out a few Tango trainees at your three o'clock," she said, breathing quickly and fitting the rifle into the hollow of her shoulder. "They were camo'd pretty well. I'm on the lookout for more. The rest of Red team is still hidden, I can't see them from here." John heard four stun shots, two harsh through the radio and the others from the treetops, muffled by the wind. "Two more down, approximately sixty meters to your left. She whistled low, impressed. "Those _are _some nice suits. I've got you covered."

John was already slithering through the grass. "Don't need to tell me twice." In half a minute, he had two Ghillie suits draped over his shoulder, as well as helmets, rifles and ammo salvaged. He hesitated a moment, and then removed the stun darts from the soldiers, reinserting them into brachial veins. There. That should keep them out a while longer.

Shots whizzed overhead at an incredible rate. Fhajad's voice, filled with static, buzzed over the comm.. "All two-point-ohs, I repeat, _all two-point-ohs,_ rendezvous at Eurotas by 0445 hours to regroup. Harness any supplies found, but don't go out of the way. Travel silent, travel scary. Over and out."

John frowned. Eurotas was the Spartan's code name for their base, taken from the ancient Sparta on Earth. If they were retreating, something was wrong—seriously wrong. He donned a suit and fell back onto hands and knees, shuffling towards the tree line as fast as possible, stopping whenever he heard voices. Once in the forest, he hid the suits and piled everything else into the pack. John scrambled up into the dense foliage and leapt from tree to tree almost like a squirrel, sprinting across any clearings without looking back.

Tired and panting, he heard the gush of the Big Horn River before he saw it. The smell of salt stung; he was near the mouth. Good.

Staying hidden behind the tree line, John carefully looked around for any of Tango's soldiers. Satisfied the area was secure, he began walking parallel to the river, scanning the thick tree trunks. There; a giant white oak, seven bullets embedded in the wood. He reached up, jumping for the first branch. The bark scratched his already bleeding hands, but he didn't notice. Dried blood had streaked the tree before he arrived, and he took that as a good sign. Pulling his legs up around the limb, John climbed to the highest stable branch. Wind whipped through his hair. It was like the top of the world; he could see Tango's base far down the hill, fellow Spartans hurrying through the woods, and most importantly, a small piece of land at the mouth of the river. There was a rope connecting this branch to a twin tree on the island; he could just barely see Spartans gathered on the island's beach. Looking across, he saw Will perched opposite him. The first to arrive, then; the first always tallied, and came down when everyone was accounted for.

John wiped his bloody hands off on his pants and flexed his arms. Breathing deeply, he grasped the rope with both hands and swung his feet from the limb. The rope shook, and John looked down. He experienced momentary vertigo; the river powered along nearly twenty meters below him. He unconsciously began to calculate the odds of survival if he fell, but then stopped; no _Spartan _would ever fall. Swaying slightly, he began to place one hand in front of the other.

John's arms burned like fire as he approached the other end of the rope. "Good time," Will grinned in greeting, curly black locks dangling nearly down to his ears. "You're fiftieth. Red, yellow, and, of course, green teams are fully accountable. Climb down and grab an energy bar from the stash."

John nodded, shaking his arms. They felt numb. He looked back; three more Spartans were climbing across the river, and eight more were rallied at the coast, covering them. Dropping his pack at the roots, he checked his watch; 0440 hours. John jogged to a clearing at the center of the island, where his fellow Spartans were waiting. They nodded or waved in greeting; some sat, reloading and examining weapons, as others checked supplies. No one spoke. There was an air of cold, calm calculation; they were on a mission.

Three minutes later, John's radio buzzed. "Oly oly oxen free," Will's voice rang clear. "We're all here. Sam and I coming down." John quickly counted, double-checking. Seventy-two, seventy-three...and Sam and Will, seventy-five. He sighed in relief, proud. They had made it early, and his team was safe—for now.

"Okay, everyone," John called, claiming authority. "There's been a change of plans. Tango's got the woods covered."   
"So we go around," Anton said.

Grace shook her head. "Kelly and I came in along the coast. Tango hasn't got it staked out yet, but you can only go so far before you get to the fence. We'll be in plain sight."

John wrinkled his forehead. The Spartans had staked out the coast last night, while looking at their tactical options. The chain-link fence surrounding the training center led right up to the water; along the coast, however, there was a 12-foot stone wall. The only way in from the ocean was through a tunnel—a tunnel built for bullet trains leaving the continent.

"So, we go along the coast until the cliff, and then rappel down as planned." He said.

Linda jumped down from her branch and edged closer to the group. "We can use the Ghillie suits. Everyone left the ones they found right at the tree line, so they'll be easy to find."

"There's enough for all of us?" John asked.

"No," Linda said, slowly. "But not all of us will _need_ them." Her green eyes had a deadly spark to them.

John grinned, nodding. "Gotcha." He quickly counted. "Okay, everyone with a sniper rifle or scoped pistol is now assigned to Blue team. Linda, you're Blue-one; Fhajad, Blue-two; Anton, Blue-three. Follow the cliff, but don't rappel; stay on high ground and cover Red team. Red team: your mission is to take out the guards at the train station. Hand signals only—we're don't want to be noticed until the fireworks start." Without turning around, he heard Sam and Will approach from behind. They stood on either side of him.

"What about Green team?" Will asked. "We still guarding the stuff, or coming with?"

John blinked. "Mendez is picking us up at 0700 hours. Will we need it?"

Sam shrugged and flipped his sandy hair out of his eyes, still panting. "It's your call, squad leader."

John chewed his lower lip. He didn't want to leave the equipment unguarded...but they would need every single Spartan out there firing once they reached the base. "Okay. We're all going. Move out—on the water, this time, one hundred meters off-shore. Stun grenades only. Blue team, take guns and move to the cliff by land." John took their flag and handed it to Fhajad. He watched as Linda motioned for her team—over half the Spartans—to depart. "Be careful," he told them as they exited, climbing along the rope to the other side of the Big Horn River.

One by one, Red team exited the clearing and dove into the water, heading to Tango's base. John wrapped his grenades and radio securely in his pack, making sure it was water-tight. He took a deep breath and dove from the shore, catching his breath as he hit; the autumn temperatures were just beginning to chill the surf. He bit his lip as the salt stung his scraped palms, but continued to push forward. He resurfaced and began to stroke, slickly and silently, until he could see the dim outline of a train rail in the distance. Breathing to the right, he could see the cliffs rising up alongside the coast. John stopped swimming and began to walk to shore, keeping his head just above the water in case any snipers were watching from the woods.

Soon enough, Red team was gathered on the beach. John counted his teammates quickly—an automatic procedure, though all but unnecessary. Everyone always made it. He stood silently for a second, massaging his burning arm muscles. He checked his watch—0459.

Kelly untied her pack from around her waist and pulled out a pair of stun grenades. She stuck them in the fence a meter apart and primed them. Under normal circumstances, the blast wouldn't do much damage—but here, by the ocean, the fence was weakened by rust.   
John blinked and turned away as the grenades went off—seconds later, there was a jagged hole in the fence just big enough to crawl through. The perimeter alarms went off. John took lead, sprinting though the hole, and motioned his teammates after him—they didn't have much time.

The train station was dead ahead. John motioned for the other Spartans to move ahead and secure the station. He pointed to himself, Sam, and Kelly, and then took out his radio. The three split from the group and darted into a warehouse. They ran a quick pass of the room and, satisfied it wasn't bugged, sat down quickly. Sam stayed by the door, standing guard.

"Okay," John whispered. "Set your radios to the standard channel and run the static programs we set up. It's time to spam Tango with all we've got." John held the speaker to his ear and winced at the noise; Blue team had beaten them to it.

"Three soldiers at twelve o'clock," Sam said, calm and steady. He looked around the room and spotted a rack of stun guns to the left. Picking one up and opened the door a crack, he pulled the trigger three times. "Neutralized. The flag's out, too, already hooked up—the Corporal and two armed escorts are on approach. Stun guns."

Kelly stood up, grabbing a gun of her own. "I'm getting the flag. Cover me."

John nodded stood by the door. Kelly was already on her way, the Corporal's escorts running straight towards her. John prepped to fire, but he was late—someone from Blue team had already taken them out. Kelly had a clear shot. She skidded to the flagpole and grabbed at the wire, rappelling up the pole to reach the flag. John was careful to take out any soldier who dared get within firing range. Within seconds, she was back down, darting around bodies and heading straight towards the station. The central courtyard was clear.

John and Sam followed her path as indiscreetly as possible, checking around corners and slinking in the shadows. John could just barely see Blue team up on the cliff ledge. He jumped and waved, motioning them down.

They arrived at the train station at 0512. Blue team trailed in moments after, sweaty and breathing deeply. The rest of Red team had the station guarded, guns aimed out of every window.

Fhajad walked up to John and handed him the flag, grinning. "Good work, guys."

"It's not over yet," Linda said. "Let's get out of here."

Anton jumped down to the train rail and peered down either end of the tunnel. "They've got the entrance secured, but we can get out this way," he said.

Linda shook her head, grim. "If you're hit by a dart, you're rendered unconscious, but if you're hit by a bullet train you're _dead _dead."

Sam walked to the control center, stepping over the bodies of stunned soldiers. He examined the computer display. "The next train is due in five minutes. I think we can make it if we move now. We can swim out, head back to base, and wait for Mendez there."

"Okay. Only the rendezvous coordinates are..." John paused, doing the math in his head. He looked out the window; the sun was rising over the ocean. He met Sam's eyes, smiling grimly. "Half a degree east. We have to take the train to _get _to the coordinates."

They waited, nervously. Right on time, the roar of engines echoed through the tunnel. Headlights flashed into the station, blindingly bright, with a screech of breaks. It was a one-car transport train, as John had hoped. This would be easy.

The front row of Spartans each primed a grenade and surrounded the mechanical doors. In the silence, John could hear footsteps on the other side. He counted in his head. Five...four...three...two...

The doors slid open. John hesitated for a millisecond, just long enough to confirm the soldiers on the train weren't Mendez's men—and tossed his grenade into the car.

Four of his teammates did the same. The stun grenades went off in a brilliant display of fireworks as the soldiers slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"Okay, everyone in! We're out of here." John ran to the controls as the Spartans piled in, sitting down and grabbing railings. They shoved the soldiers out of the car and onto the floor of the station, stripping them of weapons in a celebration of victory.

The train took off, racing through the aquamarine surf at a supersonic speed. John finally allowed himself to relax, easing into the conductor's seat. They had won, again—as they always would.


End file.
